There to Comfort Me
by IBelongInNarnia
Summary: SPOILERS. "I was the Mockingjay. And I can never take it back." The nation of Panem is forever changed and Katniss, broken, is left in District 12 to repair, but there can be no healing without the boy with the bread. His life, his love, means everything.


The following fanfic is not to be read if you have not already gone through the Hunger Games series. This story takes place at the very end of Mockingjay. It is essentially an expansion of the page before the epilogue, because a few paragraphs wasn't quite enough to satisfy. I hope this ficlet helps to amend that craving.

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games series and all characters therein belong to Suzanne Collins. All rights reserved.**

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CHAPTER ONE: THE PRINCE AND THE SWALLOW

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not _stay with me_ one night longer?"

"I will stay with you _always__,"_ said the Swallow.

~ Oscar Wilde, The Happy Prince

Four notes. That's all it takes to make a simple, charming melody that once danced across my lips. It was a sound that suggested security and comfort. Now it haunts my dreams. I could be dreaming about anything, even something that has brought happiness to my life, and suddenly I hear the whistling. That's what starts the nightmares.

I can scarcely remember a time when I wasn't plagued with these horrifying dreams. It's been months, years, since Effie Trinket called out the names of the tributes for the 74th Hunger Games and changed my life forever, to put it lightly. My world was flipped upside down, shaken vigorously, and set on fire. So much sadness, fear, torture, hunger, death, emptiness. It sticks to my bones as if it all happened just yesterday, though it's been a few months now since Paylor became president and the whole of Panem revolutionized. Plutarch once told me, "Maybe this time it'll stick."

It's been a good start. Any improvement from the horror that was the old Panem is welcome. As for me, I'll never be the same. Once I returned to the Victor's Village, I spent much time on my own, trying to sort my jumbled thoughts. For a few days, I found myself wondering where I would be if other members of District 12 had been selected for the games. By now, there's no question. I'd be long gone from District 12, fighting to be the old Katniss who hunted to keep her family and other members of 12 alive, who avoided thinking about the Capitol and the games, who never noticed the boy with the bread. And I'd be with Gale. We'd be hunting every day as one mind, the way we had for years. He'd love me and I'd never be able to love him enough to make it fair. We would live in the woods, constantly on the move, hiding the people we love from any possible hovercrafts that might fly by. Prim would be safe.

But that was an old dream, a memory that will never come to be.

Prim was chosen to be a tribute. I volunteered to take her place. Peeta fought for my life. I was responsible for the deaths of countless people. Rue died in my arms. President Snow destroyed everything I'd come to know and love. Haymitch deceived me. The two boys I cared about most vied for my heart. District 12 was incinerated. I watched the people I love die for me and my cause. My baby sister was killed. I assassinated Coin. I was the Mockingjay.

And I can never take it back.

I can see the logic of it. What I did in the rebellion made a difference, it wasn't for nothing. The Hunger Games are gone now, Snow is dead, and the Districts are no longer isolated. But logic doesn't overpower the harsh images that flash before my eyes, vivid and sickening. I'm thankful the games are forever ended and the gamemakers forever silent, but while that may be true, I still can't look at a child without a stab of fear. These children in the districts will never undergo the same lurch in the stomach that I so often felt at each Reaping, or witness the shock of brutal murder at the hands of children. Just thinking about the killings made me reel when I was still sixteen and naïve.

Now, reflecting on the games makes me numb. I'll never go a day without remembering what transpired over the past months when life as I knew it died and became born again. I try to brush it aside but it always catches up with me at night, when the nightmares flood my thoughts and I'm forced to revisit the sound of my own screams. Only Peeta can bring me back, like the hope of a single primrose in a field grown upon the ashes of fallen friends. It was hard to come back to him. I wasn't sure about my feelings for Peeta back when he was completely in love with me, and then I was faced with hijacked Peeta, who wanted me dead. It was so much pain. He's fighting so hard to return. Being in District 12 helps him to grow more familiar with the boy I know. But I still see the eyes of the boy who strangled me every so often.

I caught him once in a fit. I heard noise from somewhere in his house, so I let myself in and followed the sound. It was more than a disturbance, it was like thrashing. I opened the door to his room and Peeta was kneeling on the floor, his arms out to his sides. He had ropes wrapped around his wrists and tied to posts. He was pulling at them, groaning and shuddering.

"Peeta! What are you doing?" I cried out and ran to him.

He stopped with a jolt. He no longer pulled at the ropes but continued to shake. He looked up at me and his eyes were surprised, I had caught him in a moment of weakness. I knew he didn't want me to see him like this. It was like being back in the city, when he needed the cuffs around his wrists to give him a different pain to keep him from being sucked into the fake, hijacked memories. His face still formed a look of anguish, distorted with pain and tears. I knelt next to him and I reached up to one of his wrists but he jerked away.

"No, I need it!" he snapped.

"No you don't, Peeta, let me take the rope off."

His biting tone changed to pleading.

"I don't want to hurt you. I can't let myself hurt you."

I felt tears welling up but I grabbed his wrist anyway.

"You're not going to hurt me." I spoke with a strength that betrayed my inner self which was crumbling away at the sight of Peeta's suffering.

The ropes fell to the floor and Peeta and I were left kneeling in front of each other. He had seemed to calm and almost normal out on the streets of 12. He was starting up a new bakery and frequently made deliveries of baked goods to various people. He often made cheese buns for me. It was one of few things I could get myself to eat. But this, the struggling, hurting boy before me, was unknown to me. How long had he been hiding this from me? The burns on his wrists led me to believe a few weeks, not too long after we'd returned to 12. _How had I not noticed?_ I suppose I had been caught up in my own suffering and confusion to pay attention.

I didn't know what to do or what to say. I should have done something but I couldn't. I got to my feet and left him. I descended the stairs and broke out into a brief sprint from his house to mine. I shot up my own stairs to my room, where I fell to my bed and gathered the sheets in my hands. I tried not to cry every day, but I was tired. I was tired of being burdened with so much. So I curled up into a ball and let all the tears I'd been holding back spill onto my pillow. The sobs became lulling and I drifted into sleep.

It was on this night that all the pain came flooding back. Usually I got one flash, one moment in time that ran through my mind. But seeing Peeta that way, stricken and full of fear, somehow brought it all back in a wave that crashed down upon me. Everything that brought me pain resurfaced. Rue singing to me as blood dribbled down her cheek. Boggs and the explosion that blew his legs away, and the final words he spoke to me. The teeth of mutts clawing into Finnick's skin and tearing his face away.

And then I experience again the killings done by my own hands. I dropped the tracker jacker hive on Glimmer and the other girl, their screams permeated my ears as the stingers stabbed into them and their bodies swelled. Marvel speared Rue, and in return got an arrow lodged in his neck. He fell to the ground and blood pooled as he choked his final breaths in agony. Cato was half-eaten by muttations and wriggling on the forest floor, consumed with pain but unable to die until my arrow pierced his skull. Wiress crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from her throat, and I reflexively killed her killer, Gloss. And then the bombers in District 8, taking out whatever they could, met my explosive arrows and ultimately destroyed the hospital and every single person inside – every woman, man and child full of hope just at the sight of me. I killed peacekeepers. I killed the innocent woman whose home we invaded in the city. And I watched as blood spewed from Snow's mouth with laughter after I shot an arrow through Coin's heart and sent her tumbling over a railing until she hid the ground with a thud.

Just when I think I may have reprieve, I see her. Her blonde hair swishes as she turns to follow my voice and find my face. Then she sees me. She looks relieved. She's so much stronger than I ever was, and so much more useful, helping so many people to heal. I need her now to heal me. But I know what I am about to see, and I know I won't be able to bear it. The fire rushes forward. The flames crawl up her hair, wrap around her wrists, and then engulf her completely. She screams for a moment but I can't help her. My own skin burns and I find myself propelled backward by the force of the explosion. The pain is monumental, and I don't want to fight it. I just want to save the little girl.

Prim.

I woke with a start. I was shaking violently and I felt tears trail down my face and neck. Beads of sweat formed all over my skin and my clothes began to stick. Only after realizing this do I hear the screaming and recognize it as my voice. I look in the direction of my door. It stands open and I visualize my Prim standing there, carrying a bowl of soup toward me and no doubt intending to offer her sage advice. But then she fades away and the doorway is empty. I bury my face in the coldness of my pillow, hoping for some sort of comfort in the reality that she is gone and she would want me to accept it and find happiness. But I can't. All I see is her. I turn my face and sit up in my bed, wrapping my arms around my knees.

And then suddenly my doorway was filled. Peeta looked across the room at me, his beautiful blue eyes sad and afraid. No one else could sympathize with my memories. No one else could understand how much pain I could feel without even being touched. Looking at him, I knew Peeta could see in his head everything that I'd seen in my nightmare, the lucid moving pictures of death and destruction. Just hours ago I had seen him writhing, and I realized I must have looked the same when I saw him. I didn't want him to feel pain, and I wanted to do something to help but I didn't know what. Only, unlike me, Peeta knew what to do.

He walked toward me and wordlessly sat on the bed next to me. He looked down at his knees for a moment, as if contemplating something, then faced me. We looked at each other. It was a truly sorrowing moment, two broken souls searching each other's eyes for an answer that would never appear. There would be no perfect life waiting for us in the future, only glimpses of happiness and years of repair. He lifted a hand and brushed a few strands of hair away from my face. He hadn't touched me like this since before he was hijacked. And then just as he'd done so many times before, he made his way under the sheets next to me. I was still sitting up, and he sat next to me, waiting for me to react. I've always been more of a do-er and less of a thinker, so I said nothing, but I dropped my head to his shoulder and wept.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and warm, the way I had been missing. He rested his head in my hair, and I apologized inwardly for having gone without a decent bathing for a few days. He didn't seem to mind. I felt his lips brush across my forehead and I pulled him back onto the bed. I put my arms around him and rested my head near the hollow of his neck. We'd held each other many times before. That was when we wanted to protect each other, when we didn't know what would happen. The way we hold each other now is different. Still wanting to protect each other, but knowing that all the danger has passed and that we are alone in our mourning.

This is not the boy who was hijacked, who strangled me, not even the boy who fought against the strain of ropes every night to repel the tainted memories of me. This is the boy who loved me ever since he was five years old, who saved my life with burnt bread, who hated proposing to me under false pretenses, who kissed me countless times. The boy who _still_ loves me. Knowing this, I was able to enjoy a short few hours of dreamless sleep.

When I wake, he's still there. His eyes are open, looking down at me. I can't tell if he slept at all while I was sleeping. I'm willing to bet he's been alert and awake, trying to sort out his thoughts. It's a big step for him to be comfortable with me like this. Having him here feels like it's too good to be true. I've always known Peeta has been a comfort to me but it is when I am lying next to him in my bed at home in 12 when I realize I want to wake up this way every day. I want him beside me. It's not the same way I wanted him before. I wanted him near because I needed to know I could protect him and keep him safe. Now, even though the threats of old are gone, I still need him near but now it's for my protection. I know there's no hope of returning to the old me, but there's also no hope of pulling myself out of the dark places my mind runs to without Peeta to pull the weight I can't bear on my own. I've never needed him more. And here he is, in my arms.

I lift my head and kiss him just below the jaw. Something flashes in his eyes and I almost think he's going to kiss me, but then he stops.

"We kissed a lot, before the Capitol took me." He doesn't end it like a question but I nod anyway. "You were pretending, for the cameras."

"Sometimes." I don't want him to remember me as the girl who used him to save his life.

"Mmm." He closed his eyes. I think he was remembering, searching for something buried in memories locked away. Then his eyes opened again and he smiled. It was the most genuine, heartwarming smile I had seen in months. He lowered his head, tucked a bit of hair behind my ear, and whispered: "The beach."

I knew what he meant. He was referring to a moment we shared alone in the arena of the 75th games, lying on a beach. Something deep inside me didn't feel like pretending to love Peeta but wanted to feel him like I never had before. And for minutes that felt like an eternity, I entangled myself in his arms and our lips barely left one another to breathe.

"That wasn't pretend," he spoke softly into my hair. "Real or not real?"

"Real."

It's such an amazing relief to me that these memories are coming to him this way. These are the memories the Capitol poisoned with all the footage they had of me, but Peeta is smiling. He's really winning. I'm so relieved that I lift my hands to his face and hold him so that I can kiss him. His lips kiss me back just the way I hoped they would. His embrace tightens around me and his lips part as the kiss deepens. I lose myself in the moment until I feel him grow tense. He's still kissing me but he's more rigid and I open my eyes to see his brows are furrowed. I release him and grab his hands.

"Fight it, Peeta. Squeeze my hands as hard as you can."

He does and for a moment I think it might be best for me to leave him but then the tension subsides and he loosens his grip. I know in my head and my heart that he will be alright and that his fight has never been so fierce, but my eyes must betray me because Peeta's face changes to look very serious. He sits up and brings me up with him, still holding my hands. He looks down and brushes his thumbs across them. I entwine my fingers with his. He looks up at me and leans forward to kiss my forehead.

"Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have."

The first time he said that, he mostly meant that I can affect the public. But there was always that underlying implication that I've affected him a great deal, and that's how he means it now.

"Listen to me. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I love you. I've always loved you. I'm always going to love you. Nothing will stop me from fighting this, Katniss. I promised you that. Remember?"

I had never heard him tell me he loved me before. It was always hinted at, yet his feelings felt more real and believable now that he'd said it. I didn't care that he'd been hijacked – it had been one of the most terrifying, heartbreaking moments of my life – but it didn't matter because now I really have Peeta back. I never thought I'd be so lucky. I thought I had lost him forever, that the boy who once held me and kissed me had died. So many times I remembered thinking, _I don't want to be alone, I don't want to lose the boy with the bread_. I haven't lost him. I'm not alone. He might leave me for a few moments but my Peeta always comes out in the end, and I'll help him every day to face his inner demon, just as he helps me to find life again.

And then I remembered his promise. He had promised me twice, actually. Once, in the first games, when I wasn't sure how to process it. The second time in the Capitol, when I was sure I would never stop fighting for Peeta and I willed him to fight back. He was sure he'd be changed permanently, possessed by the poison, but I wouldn't let it go. I couldn't think of anything to convince him but to share with him the only thing I had left. I covered his mouth with mine and channeled every memory of the kisses we had shared over the many months we'd known each other. I wanted him to feel it and remember. I wanted those memories to battle with the polluted visions the Capitol had implanted into his head. I wanted him to win, more than anything. And then he said it again, as I clung to his hands and told him, "Stay with me."

"Always."

I knew he meant it, and in the back of my mind, I knew my Peeta would come back. It would take time, but he would come back to me as he always does. This was his promise.

"I remember," I murmur.

It's hard not to smile even just a little bit. My heart is finally at ease. There isn't a game of hunger in my chest, where my heart fought for which boy best fulfilled my emotional starvation. I'm no longer questioning where I should go and waiting for my heart to speak for me. I can speak for myself. Peeta has my heart. Maybe if I hadn't been in the games I'd be with Gale, but I _was_ in the games and vowing to save Peeta sealed the deal. I was always going to be with Peeta, I was always going to choose him. I think Gale knew that before I did. Like me, he wanted to save what was in the past when there would be no going back. But he was grasping at straws and he knew it. Gale was my past, Peeta was my future. It is so simple and clear.

"What was it I once said? I mentioned it when we were on the train. Something about having nightmares of losing you, but then I'd wake up and find you in my arms and all is well again?" He trails his fingers up my arm and I smirk. "I think my episodes would be much better if we go back to that again."

"I like that idea. We should pick it up again, starting now."

"Done."

He rolls over on top of me and kisses me along my collarbone. Sun beams stream through the window and make a halo out of his blonde curls, and I realize it's already morning. I'm meant to go hunting today, and I had planned on going out early so that I could be back before the afternoon when I would be meeting up with Haymitch. I meet up with him once a week. I'd make more appearances but he isn't so lonely with his liquor and his geese for companionship.

I move to get up but Peeta's hands grab for me. He holds me down, pinning my wrists to my sides. He's grinning and I decide I don't want to move. Hunting, Haymitch, the geese, it can all wait. The boy with the bread wants me.

He pauses a moment, then whispers, "Stay with me."

I know what he wants me to say, and I have no problem saying it.

"Always."

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Reviews are welcome! I also encourage kind and honest critique; constructive criticism will drive me to improve and continue my writing.


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